


Balancing Acts

by silasfinch



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Career Change, Career Ending Injuries, F/F, Gen, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silasfinch/pseuds/silasfinch
Summary: AU: Aspiring Novelist Philippa is recovering on Vulcan and Michael is an officer at Vulcan Starfleet Headquarters. They find inspiration together





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nomisunrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomisunrider/gifts).



> For nomisunrider who always does a great job editing and catching canon mistakes

"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

-Vulcan Proverb.

"I would not recommend exceeding the safety limits of this institution, Dr. Georgiou.

Philippa Georgiou starts in surprise at both the familiar voice and the distinctly unfamiliar title. Technically she holds a doctorate in Political Science and Intergalactic Diplomacy but few know of the qualification and fewer use it, with most preferring Captain, even though she retired almost a year ago. Vulcan privacy laws work in her favour during the reoccupation processes. The Way of Surek doesn't place much importance on celebrity and individual accomplishment. She is free to heal with relative anonymity as a guest of the Shi’Kahr Rehabilitation Service.

Or at least that was the plan.

"Are you keeping tabs on me, Captain Burnham, or spying for Lady Amanda Greyson and her efforts to restore me to good spirits?"

Her tone is more polite than that offered to most members of Starfleet these days. She doesn't blame the institution she spent her life serving, but the complete disintegration of body, mind, and career fuel her anger (or so the therapists say). A small mercy is that Michael is out of uniform, opting for workout gear that makes her appear no less striking.

"Neither. I can assure you my foster mother learnt long ago to select a different emissary for her goodwill. We share the same exercise facilities, and my observations steam from experience in triggering mandatory healer protocols and restrictions. Vulcans value individual freedom, except when it comes to reckless disregard for personal health."

Philippa feels more than a little horror at the prospect of public health checks from Vulcan healers. She doesn't admit weakness easily and nearly dying in the line of duty doesn't lessen her stubborn pride.

***

"You stamina is improving, and the muscle conditioning is paying dividends. May I make a suggestion?

"That's a diplomatic way of saying I no longer resemble a hobbly mess with less balance than a Tribble under the influence."

The two women are in one of the many private spaces in the complex, this one hosting a selection of mats and benches meant for stretching. A silent attendant places several large pitchers of water on the small table by the fire pot.

"The human tendency towards self-depreciation is baffling and counterproductive, especially in a rehabilitation facility. Your body is recovering; therefore, the strength parameters need adjustment, which isn't a reflection on you as a person."

"Yes, Healer Michael" Philippa jokes with a smile.

Michael smiles briefly before taking them through yet another sequence focusing on strengthing the core and avoiding pressure on the atrophied leg. A mixture of Vulcan and Human techniques that work well during the war. Unfortunately, Captain Philippa Georgiou is not the first to contend with weapons of the Klingon Empire; making wounds last for months as years is a point of pride for the warrior race.

"Enough - I am a collection of protesting muscles and poorly converted oxygen." Philippa theatrically collapses to the floor, wiping sweat from her hairline before redoing a loose messy braid.

"You did well."

Insultingly Michael continues to jog on her feet, looking at the picture of energy as she does warm-down exercises. Her exercise clothing is weighted and designed to create more resistance. Philippa can't help but smile at the odd picture they make.

***

"May I buy you a tea to say thank you?"

"No thanks is necessary; my service is freely given and far from expert."

Philippa wants to argue that point Michael just took her through more routines in 90 minutes than she knew existed for such a severe injury at her age. There is still underlying pain and protest in the troublesome right leg, but far less than usual. If the former Captain weren't fully aware of her commander’s career path, she would swear Michael Burnham wore healers robes.

"Then at least let me make an effort to be social for once," Philippa insists with a gentle smile.

"There is an excellent restaurant a few blocks from here," Michael offers. "Shall we meet at the doors in 10 minutes?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea, but I insist on paying."

Philippa doubts she is fooling Michael, but she does her best not to limp as she heads to the changing room. The workout is for rehabilitation, but doesn't mean the exertion comes entirely without cost. The tingling in the foot is sharp and hot, but she feels invigorated by the small progress; it almost makes the sleepless nights worthwhile.

She changes in a hurry, but suddenly feels self-conscious about her casual clothes and voice hoarse from occasional use and long walks in the thin, dusty air. Philippa cannot remember making a new friend in the last decade, and certainly not since the injury and the first Klingon strike. The casual conversation feels daunting, even with a fellow Starfleet officer.

Mindful of timekeeping sensitivities, she enters the lobby precisely at ten past the hour. Michael is already by the door conversing quietly with a tall Vulcan woman. The interaction isn't pleasant judging by the tense set to Michael's shoulders and the clipped tones. The voices cease as Philippa approaches, and the elder moves away with a few words to fast for her rudimentary grasp of the language.

"What does _kitork rikup'es_ mean?" Philippa asks as they walk towards the restaurant

Michael walks stiffly, seemingly lost in her thoughts and whatever this woman said to her. She looks cold in her thin tunic, but has clearly refused to put on a sweater. Philippa feels oddly protective without knowing the circumstances.

"It is nonsense, both in terms of definition and grammar. It’s a vague notion from Preform times that feel out of favour and therefore modern usage. I am polluting Vulcan and weakening the society as a whole."

***

"How are you finding the Starfleet Vulcan Office? Resenting the desk duty soon after your promotion?" Philippa asks wait for a table. 

"On the contrary, I find this posting meaningful and engaging. Vulcan is at the centre of the war effort. I find the resistance to administration a strange feature of Starfleet personnel. No duty has intrinsically less value than another, yet you are the seventh person to offer such sentiments." Michael looks genuinely baffled by the consolation

"I'm afraid that it is a failing of both the young and the old to venerate the concept of action and glory, especially for the newly promoted. Maybe it comes from a fear of not measuring up to the lofty ideals that founded the Federation."

"Your speculation may have merit, however; I find satisfaction in performing administrative tasks well and ensuring the functioning of the system, glory or not." Michael agrees with a small shrug

"Don't let Oskar hear you say that. He'll have running audits and stocktake for the remainder of your tour right behind recalibrating tricorders and replicators."

"My love of efficiency is far from a secret, Captain; thus my duties are many and varied. Captain Thompson displays a passion for animal conservation so my primary 'unofficial duty' is advising him on keeping a rare Selhet subspecies alive and thriving in the Earth climate.”

"I was pleased when Sarek mentioned your assignment. Oskar is the best of men and about as liberal as they come. He would not hesitate to respect the wishes of a Vulcan-raised officer."

The spread before them contains a broad range of Vulcan fruits and savoury snacks. Philippa suspects that they were chosen for human palates, as there is more sugar than the natives are generally comfortable with given the alcoholic effect of too much sugar or cocoa. Thankfully she enjoys this diet and doesn't miss many of the comforts from her home system. Any time she has a craving for Malaysian dishes, her brother's recipes are all a replication away.

"This restaurant is known for creating light food between main meals. Amanda wishes to know if you will join us for the evening. She requests that I play the harp and the piano. My talent is mediocre at best, but you are most welcome."

***

"Welcome to our home, Captain."

Philippa supposes a diplomat's wife hosts guests with frequency, but it still surprises her how easily Lady Amanda Grayson accepts her into their private space, thoughtfully turning down the internal temperature controls to something approaching an Earth climate.

"Thank you for hosting me."

"Sarek and I make our home open to many Starfleet officials and humans who are staying on Vulcan for long stretches,” Amanda confides with a smile. “I am just glad Michael finally convinced you to take a break - although there is certain hypocrisy there, given my family's workaholic tendencies."

Amanda Grayson looks genuinely at home in these surroundings and every inch the wife of a noble Vulcan House. Her long dark hair is resting comfortably against the robes and silver jewelery. She switches quickly between Vulcan and Standard. Philippa suddenly remembers that many Vulcan families prefer not to rely on universal translators, unless there is no other option.

"Your husband and adult children are healthy and functioning well."

Michael replies from her position, chopping vegetables and stirring the broth.

"Spock completed training for the Trials with a broken arm and borderline apoxia, the definition of an unreliable narrator."

Philippa smiles at the easy comradery between the two women. The many months of rehabilitation were taxing beyond measure both physically, and pathologically stubborn pride meant that she kept many well-wishers away – including, to her shame, the surviving members of her crew. Her brothers understood and returned home after her condition had stabilised, and she began moving again. Whatever rehab unit Philippa travels to there will have care package waiting. Staying with a family is a rarity, especially on Vulcan.

"It must be a delight having Michael stationed near Shi’Kahr for the next year or so, although the circumstances are far from ideal," Philippa comments as she sips a refreshing drink unique to Vulcan.

"Right now I am content with anywhere within a few lightyears of 40 Eridani. It is likely that Spock will visit as well to serve as an unofficial liaison to the VSA. His visits are always fleeting."

Michael's music is far from average, and Philippa enjoys the peaceful melody as Sarek joins in with his drum beat. They switch between modern and traditional songs that are popular in all corners of the galaxies. Amanda sings for a few pieces and takes up the piano for a few earth favourites. Philippa is too self-conscious about her still healing hands to make an offering, though the lessons from childhood come flooding back.

***

"I am attempting to write a novel, which still sounds strange to say, but there are thirty-thousand words and three drafts to attest to the reality."

Philippa waits for the onslaught of questions the statement usually provokes. To be fair the idea of writing fiction is a somewhat radical shift for the former Captain and lifelong academic. A few colleagues do make the change, but usually, these people have a streak of creative writing in either their genes or their background. Philippa can claim no such advantage, merely a persistent desire to escape the confines of reality for a while.

The silence in the estate's guestroom isn't uncomfortable, but Philippa should know better than to test the waiting capacity of one raised on Vulcan. Michael may serve on a human crew and interact with few from home, but her every gesture demonstrates a lifetime of meditation and mental discipline.

"Would you like an exclusive insight into the plot as partial payment for my new exercise plan?" Philippa quips, finally breaking the quiet.

"Few in my family pursue the creative careers, but it is my understanding that manuscripts are deeply personal. The details are yours to share alone, not mine to solicit."

"My family is half proud, half concerned that my manuscript is a post-retirement crisis, though I did promise not to write about a fictional Starship Captain," Philippa says with a chuckle.

"You are an accomplished writer and academic - these talents will translate to many areas, especially as you have an appreciation for the Arts and traditional opera."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence. I may recruit you to be a first reviewer."

"If you wish."

Philippa marvels at how spending time with Michael and her family has such a profound impact on her mood and for once she is looking forward to an appointment in her schedule. Having engagements that do not involve therapy or physical rehabilitation is a foreign concepts. Michael Burnham is one of the few people to consider her dream of writing as more than flight of fancy.

Just maybe she has a new friend on Vulcan


	2. Human Notions

_Logic is the cement of our civilization, with which we ascend from chaos, using reason as our guide._

_-T'Plana-Hath, Matron of Vulcan Philosoph_ y

Michael Burnham does not have many human friends. 

Lady Amanda Grayson continually worries about her foster daughter and the psychological trauma of her early years. Vulcan has some of the best mental health services in the galaxy, but professional help can only do so much. It's one of the reasons she doesn't object strongly to both her children joining Starfleet. 

In truth, she doesn't like to consider those events too carefully. There was such disharmony amongst her little family, and the words between Sarek and Spock were hurtful and cruel in the way only logic can manage. Miserable, Michael spent far too much time caught in the middle both literally and figuratively. Emotion and pride are less raw now, but the recollections are still painful. 

In many respects, Starfleet is meeting her private hopes. Spock is making faithful companions amongst his shipmates, and more Vulcans are (tentatively) considering the career option. The ties between her adopted homeworld and the Federation are strengthening by the day, which is necessary with the current political unrest. However, Michael is another matter entirely, with her efforts to prove herself worthy between two worlds. Achieving the rank of Captain only succeeds in making her more distant from her peer group. 

"Do not judge Michael's concepts of loneliness by human standards, Amanda. She is successfully forging a path."

"Are you not equally guilty of judging her by Vulcan standards, my husband?"

"Perhaps. Or we both lose sight of her development as an individual of two worlds and cultures. However, I believe my Katra connection to her is strong enough to indicate any signs of distress beyond the typical ebbs and flows." 

"Or she is becoming more talented at hiding such feelings from you, for fear of disappointing the man she idolises beyond all else," Amanda points out. 

Sarek reaches for her and runs his hand down her long braid. The gesture is a curious mixture of both Human and Vulcan intimacy and something unique to their long marriage. Her choice to marriage Sarek is still baffling to many back on Earth, but Amanda never regrets the decision for all the pain. 

"We have Michael home for an extended period while she supervises the outpost. Either one of our hypotheses could be proven correct under close observation. However, I surmise that the truth will lie somewhere between the two extremes."

"Yes, I am pleased that Philippa Georgiou is here for her rehabilitation. Michael seems to enjoy the prospect of assisting the recovery process on multiple levels. Though I suspect she may find this case more challenging than the Sehlat cub with mange," Amanda laughs softy. 

"I thought we agreed to avoid matchmaking after the difficulties with T'pring's family?" Sarek asks with a raised eyebrow.

"You mistake my intent Sarek, encouraging friendship is not the same as matchmaking. Michael has enough sense to make relationship decisions without our interference." 

Sarek does not trust his wife entirely but knows not to argue the point before they head to bed. There are more contentious issues that they cannot help but disagree. There is no sense in disputing old areas of disagreements, especially when it comes to the welfare of their children. 

"You will guide me in this matter, my wife." 

***

"How is the latest chapter progressing?"

"Don't you know that is a dangerous question to ask any novelist, even an aspiring one?"

"I made a logical deduction, given that you were willing to meet today and specifically requested we visit The Historical Archives." 

Philippa almost laughs at the observation. She has only seriously considered being a novelist for a half a year, and she is already gaining a reputation for an 'artistic' temperament. This characteristic makes a change from the surly, uncooperative former Captain with chronic pain. 

"I am not so protective over the manuscript or the creative process to avoid any inquiries. I wish there were more news to report. My ideas are crumbling under the scrutiny of reality. I may no longer be a Starfleet captain, but I still think in odds and survival." 

"Having a foundation in statistics and intervals lends power to fiction work. Some of Vulcan's most influential novelists were always theoreticians of logic." 

"Whereas my creative ancestors found outlets in Malaysian opera and playwriting. There is little correlation between the two. However, the publisher seems to like my draft ideas and short stories. Hopefully, this mandatory holiday on Vulcan can produce a workable manuscript as well as a functional nervous system. It's debatable, which is the greater challenge." 

"You wouldn't be the first to find inspiration here. I have confidence that you will succeed on both counts, Philippa." 

"As will you in the construction of an efficient Starfleet outpost on Vulcan. There are plenty of eager ensigns and diplomatic aides to call on, don't feel you need to do as much of the heavy lifting as Sarek. Relations between the two organisations are improving every day. Your foster father was a pioneer for a reason." 

"I am confident we will succeed in preparing the Councils for war. The ethical considerations of using the Spore drive and other technologies is another matter entirely."

"I don't envy you having those debates. The refurbishment of the Walker Class ships was controversial enough." 

***

"There is no shame in admitting fatigue or pain." 

Philippa resists the urge to ignore the comment or its institution. Michael is not observing with a trace of pity or apprehension. One of the best aspects of being on Vulcan is the lack of pity and condition. There is ability, and there is recovery, comparing the two is a useless exercise in frustration. 

"Surely Lady Amanda mentioned my reputation for being stubborn and prideful?" 

"I believe my foster mother would consider that a prerequisite for entering Starfleet, not a character flaw."

They are walking around one of the significant public gardens in ShiKahr. The landscaping is methodical, but breathtakingly efficient; showing off the fragile ecology of the desert city. All the plants and flowers are desert varieties and sacrifice prettiness for function and survival. A small army of gardeners tends each of the displays, as well as the insects and birds that call it home. Michael isn't a botanist, but she talks with the enthusiasm of one. Lady Amanda is responsible for one of the varieties of flowering cactuses. 

"I want to see the see the desert flowers that Amanda is so proud of; then we can rest." 

"At least take my arm and shift the weight off your sore leg. We don't want the inflammation to derail our progress. The flowers will still be there in 20 minutes." 

"You are already crawling at a snail's pace to accommodate me, Miss Burnham. We don't need to add full chivalry to the mix." 

"Your metaphor is one that humans seem particularly fond of, no matter how inaccurate. Most species of snails are an example of efficiency, given their biological imperatives at the time." 

Philippa doesn't protest when Michael takes her arm and slows their pace to something resembling a shuffle. Nobody is paying them the slightest attention the star of the show is a giant carnivorous plant that only flowers in extreme drought conditions. The actions or the pride of one recovering human are positively dull by comparison. 

It's impossible to know if her self-esteem and competence will improve recovery along with her body. Perhaps Michael Burnham will influence both aspects without even trying. 

*

"How have your first few weeks home been? Enjoying spending time with Sarek?"

Philippa hates to admit it to herself, but Michael's suggestion that they stop for tea is a good one. Her leg is enjoying the rest, and the quiet restaurant is fresh in the heat of midday. The conversation flows freely and jumps between different topics. By unspoken consent, they avoid mentioning the spectre of war with the Klingons and the growing unease. There will be enough time for those conversations later in their acquaintance. 

During her convalescence, she develops a preference for Vulcan foods. The light and vegetarian meals tend to go easy on her battered digestive tract. Her fledgling appetite is improving with every meal that she shares with her guide. Shikhar has a reputation for producing excellent chiefs, and Philippa is willing to offer first-hand testimonials. 

"My notions of home are changing, but the familiar surroundings do bring me comfort."

"The first captaincy will do that to a person, especially when you are using new technology and adjusting to a larger crew. I think my notions of home are changing as well, though my brothers are campaigning for me to spend retirement at the family compound."

"Changing careers and retiring are not synonymous concepts in my experience. For example, I did not retire from academics, I merely took up another position to utilise the same skill set."

"True, but I will always be their sister who stays too far from home for too long. The notion of a free schedule is a daunting one, though I'm sure Gabriel Loca is eying me for some task or another. He finds the idea of me stepping away from active service to be something of a conspiracy," Philippa confides with a weary smile. 

"If you ever wish to talk about your experiences during the final year, I will be willing to listen. Sometimes an outside perspective can be valuable in these circumstances," Michael offers sincerely. 

"Wasn't I supposed to be offering the benefit of my many years at the helm just now? How do we always turn to the same topics?"

"The two concepts aren't mutually exclusive. I have little to no experience with human friendships, but such a give and take seems logical. There will be a time when I seek your advice, but there is no need for a tally system or score. Such measures are unquantifiable and unreliable." 

"I conceded to your superior friendship logic, Captain Burnham." 

Michael looks triumphant at the concession, but she knows enough to remain quiet and focused on the vegetable platters. 

***

"Have you ever considered writing your life story? You have a knack for stories."

Michael is dutifully helping Philippa research historical figures and details during First Contact. The records are meticulous and providing the foundations for several character interactions and chapters. Katrina will be editing sooner than she realises. The long room is almost intimidatingly quiet, with individuals or groups only talking occasionally over records. Philippa relishes the feeling of anonymity in such a place. 

"No. Spock and I are already objects of curiosity. There is no need to fuel the speculation. The House of Surek has enough notoriety for one century."

There is a faint note of both pain and finality in the words and Philippa regrets making the casual comment. Being the object of such fascination daily must have been tormenting for both young people. Especially considering how many commentators and individuals were waiting for Sarek's grand experiment to fail. 

"I do not know your foster brother well, but I would think you would both be a credit to the House rather than a scandal, especially with the more progressive elements in the Council."

Michael raises an eyebrow at the compliment before snagging another piece of cucumber. Homeworld politics is not something she follows closely since the beginning of hostilities, but Philippa is a keen student. Her new positing means they will be having plenty more conversations like this with or without the rest of the family. T'Pau and T'Lar will be proud of her education. 

"You forget that the Vulcan High Council is one of the oldest known functioning democracies. Much like the former empires on Earth, their notions of progress and change are slow and impractical at times."

"I suspect you could accuse me of being something like a chronic optimist in this regard. Such a failure might be the height of illogic, but it serves me well in most cases."

**

"Thank you for playing host for the day."

Philippa feels ridiculous walking Michael to the door of her apartment, especially considering the differences in their ages and physical conditions. However, it gives her an excuse to continue the conversation. Most people seem to walk in this older part of town. 

"Even if the company wasn't so pleasant, it is no hardship to ask an academic to spend time in our libraries, Dr. Georgiou. They are second to none in the known galaxy for knowledge translation." 

Philippa hides a smile at the evident pride in Michael's voice. The younger officer may have conflicting feelings about her adopted homeworld and culture, but she is a proud citizen too. The records are a thing of wonder. Michael proves herself an able assistant; her academic interests mean that she has a unique perspective to offer on the possible plot. 

"I believe you, but please allow me to return the favour if you are planning on publishing any journal articles." 

"Spock and I are considering a collaboration when he arrives for a site inspection. If you have the time, we would both value your input on the discussion and conclusions."

"Well, Captain Burnham, as the person who is more or less in charge of my rehabilitation and associated schedule, you are aware that my calendar remains open between bouts of muscle strain and degradation." 

Philippa can practically feel Michael getting ready to launch a defence of her physical progress and capacities. Her particular brand of coping is upfront to both her logic training and her instincts as an idealistic young captain. Philippa hopes she never loses the balance between the two impulses; it is a charming contrast. 

"Don't chastise me, Michael. I believe somebody is trying to get your attention." Philippa gestures vaguely at the communicator. 

_"Hello Sarek, do you require my assistance in preparing for the ceremony tonight?"_

Philippa pauses to listen as Michael conducts a brief conversation in Vulcan standard. As part of her injury recovery, she is unable to handle the Universal Translators for extended periods. The technology is useful but taxing on a recovering brain. On a planet that speaks Federation Common almost universally, the restriction is no hardship. The cadence of the tone and delivery is melodic and soothing. 

Michael slants her head her eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement as she finishes the conversation. Philippa has a sense that she might be the subject of discussion or interest.Her Vulcan is improving but isn't up to real conversation standard yet. 

_"I will ask her."_

"Is there a problem?" Philippa asks somewhere between concern and confusion. 

"A distant cousin is a talented dancer and principal soloist during a play about First Contact and the House Surek. Amanda and Sarek suggest that you might find experience education and enlightening. Would you like to attend?" 

"It sounds lovely, but why do you seem perturbed by the notion?"

"I would not classify my feelings as such; it is merely a surprising turn of events. These shows are generally private events until opening night. However, they were both quite insistent on the matter."

"Then, I would be honoured to accept the offer." 

Philippa is smiling as she makes her way back to her hotel suite. Today has truly been an enjoyable experience for all its simplicity and tiring amount of walking. The invitation to a family event is a surprising but not unwelcome turn of events. Michael is picking her up the following evening after work. The next three hours or so will be spent cramming a working knowledge of Vulcan dance and theatre culture. 


End file.
